


Maturity Is Relative

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of A Song of Ice and Fire Drabbles [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joffrey's Ass is Handed To Him, Lannister!Reader, Reader Insert, Reader is a Lannister, Victory is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: Joffrey's arse is handed to him by his aunt, and the victory is sweet."What are you talking about? I am very mature."Originally Posted on my Tumblr - DaenerysKhalasar





	Maturity Is Relative

Sitting across from your nephew on the Small Council, you tapped your fingers against the table, waiting. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he glanced away from you quickly, as if he could feel a scolding coming.

Good, you hoped he felt it coming from miles away. But you would wait for your father to arrive before you spoke, just so you could be sure you had some support - he always took your sides when your nephew was an idiot.

As if right on time, you could hear his boots clipping against the stone in the hallway, and Joffrey shifted in his seat, as your father intimidated him more than anyone in the world. Good. As soon as Tywin Lannister sat, you opened your mouth.

“What in the Gods name were you thinking?”

Joffrey sneered. “She tried to humiliate me-”

“She tried to save you from yourself, you miserable toad,” you hissed.

“She’s a traitor-”

“She’s a Stark,” you cried. Joffrey winced, glancing away from you quickly to hide the jump of fear at the rising of your voice. “She’s the heiress of Winterfell, the Queen of the North, and you’ve not only started this bloody war by killing her father, but now you’re going to send her - someone the people love, and adore, and sympathize with - to the dungeons for a week. Have you lost your damn mind?”

“You can’t speak to me like that, I am the king!” Joffrey cried back.

You narrowed your eyes. “The king? You’re not the king until your eighteenth name day. You’re not anything until you turn eighteen.” He swallowed. “You’re not mature enough to even handle a simple course of action. You, at the very least, could have simply acknowledged her remark and ignored it all in the same breath. But you chose to lose your temper like a petulant child-”

“What are you talking about? I am very mature!"

You scoffed, leaning back in your seat. “Mature? Were you mature when you called for Ned Stark’s head? How about when you showed your betrothed the severed head of her father on a spike? Or when you had her beaten and stripped in front of the entire court, just because you felt like it? Yes, quite mature. I’m sure you could be written in the books as Joffrey, the Mature, first of his name!”

Your voice was echoing off the walls.

“You will not speak to my son that way,” your sister, Cersei, spoke from across the table. “He is your king.”

“Let her speak, Cersei,” Tywin returned before you could turn your glare on your sister. “She seems to be the only one with enough sense to tell the boy.” And the use of the word boy was emphasized. Joffrey shifted again in his seat, like a child that was being sent to his room for something he denied doing. “If only you could raised him better, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“He made a mistake-”

“If we keep writing them off as mistakes, and give him a little piece of gold to add to his crown,” you snapped at your sister, “he’s never going to learn. Discipline goes a long way, dear sister.” Cersei clenched her jaw, folding her hands in front of her, and glancing to her father.

“And what do you say on the matter, father?”

“The boy is to apologize to the Stark girl, and mean it, before he is to give a formal apology to the court tomorrow.” Joffrey went to argue, but Tywin used a voice that used to make you cower as a child. Now, you ventured that you sounded much like him when you were angry. “You _will_ apologize. And when you’re done, you will see to it that she gets whatever she asks for.”

“And if she asks to go home?” Cersei returned spitefully.

Tywin scoffed. “The girl isn’t stupid, Cersei. But if she asks, we’ll have to make her an offer she can’t refuse.”

“And that is?” Joffrey asked, curious.

Tywin sent his grandson a scathing look, but it was you that answer. “Promise her that she won’t be marrying you, of course. I wouldn’t wish that fate upon anyone.” You were proud to see the smirk that briefly touched your father’s face, but he said nothing to refute the claim. After all, you had tried to convince your father for weeks that the match would only bring further war on your heads, until he agreed.

“Then who will she marry?” Cersei asked.

You shrugged. “As long as it’s not Joffrey the Mature, I’m not sure she’ll really care.”

You rose from your seat, pushing it back behind you with a screech against the stones. “You’ll apologize now, nephew, and you’ll do it nicely.” Moving towards the door, you straightened your shoulders. “I do so hate to see a wounded dog confined to a kennel.”


End file.
